Charlie Bone and the Blue Boa

  "I was carrying one. To leave for Ollie. But all the attic windows were shut."

  "Carrying it in your . . .?" Charlie was about to say "beak" but couldn't quite manage it.

  "Mouth," said Emma, giving him a funny look.

  Charlie said quietly "Did you find the window in the sculpture room?"

  Emma yawned again. "Eventually Thanks."

  "It was Tancred."

  They had reached the dining hall, and here they had to part, each going to his or her own table. Charlie noticed that Emma had to sit beside Belle. He was worried for his friend. Suppose someone had found the note she'd written? If the Bloors knew she was trying to rescue Ollie, there was no knowing what they might do. I'm glad she can fly, he thought to himself.

  Beside him, Fidelio polished off his last speck of oatmeal and said, "I'm sure there are things going on that I ought to know about, Charlie. Music's taking over my life a bit, but I still want to know what's happening to you all."

  "Come to the Pets' Café on Sunday" said Charlie. "We'll all be there. Maybe even Lysander and Tancred." He noticed Billy staring at him from the other side of the table. “And Billy" he added.

  "Billy?" Fidelio lowered h is voice. "Is that wise?"

  Charlie shrugged. "I think he's changing his spots, if you know what I mean."

  "Hm," said Fidelio.

  During the first break, while the others were rehearsing for the play Charlie helped Emma search for the note she'd dropped. He was just peering into the shrubbery beside the garden door when Belle and Dorcas walked up to him.

  Belle said, "I didn't know you were interested in horticulture, Charlie."

  "Haughty what?" said Charlie.

  "Never mind. What are you looking for?"

  "Nothing." Charlie shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away from them. He looked for Tancred and Lysander, but they were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Lysander was working on his carving. Billy was missing too, but he had a rat to feed and comfort.

  A few minutes before the end of break, Charlie met Emma. She hadn't found the note either.

  "I think it must have blown into the courtyard," she said.

  This was bad news. It was impossible for any of the children to go in there once the main doors were shut on Monday morning.

  "What did the note say?" asked Charlie.

  Emma bit her lip. '"Don't give up hope, Ollie. We haven't forgotten you. E.'"

  "E? Just E?" said Charlie. "That's not so bad."

  "E is for Emma," Emma said gloomily "They'll know"

  "We'll just have to hope they don't find it," said Charlie.

  His next lesson was history and, as usual, he found it very hard to concentrate. Luckily Mr. Pope didn't ask him any questions. He seemed to have given up on Charlie, which was just as well, because Charlie was wrestling with several other problems at once, and none of them had anything to do with Napoleon.

  For one thing, who were they? The Bloors obviously and Belle, of course. But Weedon, the gardener, was a nasty piece of work. And the matron, Charlie's great-aunt Lucretia, was definitely an enemy What about the rest of the staff? It was very difficult to guess. If only he had Uncle Paton to talk to, but there was still no sign of him.

  Before Charlie knew it, the lesson was over and Mr. Pope was shouting, “Another lesson has passed you by Charlie Bone. There'll be a test on Napoleon's campaigns first thing on Monday morning. If you don't get more than seventy percent, you'll have detention."

  Charlie's jaw dropped. This meant a whole weekend wasted on learning dates. He gathered up his books and marched grimly out of the history room.

  Other children were faced with the same problem. News of tests abounded. The staff had apparently caught test fever. There were very few happy faces at dinner that night.

  "I don't think I'll be able to make it to the Pets' Café this Sunday" said Gabriel, staring glumly into his soup.

  "Nor me," said Charlie.

  Billy leaned across the table. "I can still come home with you, can't I?" he begged.

  Charlie didn't have the heart to say no. "Of course you can. You can test me on my dates."

  Billy beamed. "You're on."

  On Friday Charlie heard about Lysander's progress on the carving. He and Emma were caught up in the usual rush to the dormitories to collect their bags. In spite of the looming tests, a babble of excitement had broken out. No one could remain despondent when there were two days and three nights of freedom to look forward to. Steps were climbed two at a time, and dark passages rang with hurrying footsteps and happy laughter.

  "I saw the carving last night," Emma whispered to Charlie. "It's fantastic, like a real boy Lysander's just begun to paint it. A few more days and it'll be ready"

  "How's he kept it secret?" asked Charlie.

  "He puts a sheet over it in the daytime. Mr. Mason never pays any attention to it. He's too busy doing his own sculpting."

  "Belle's in art," said Charlie anxiously

  "I don't need reminding. But, as far as I know, she hasn't seen the carving."

  They parted at the bottom of another staircase and Charlie went to find Billy

  It was true that Belle hadn't seen Lysander's carving, but she'd been aware of it. She had merely been biding her time. As soon as all the other children had climbed aboard the school buses, Belle went into the sculpture room. Mr. Mason was tapping away at a chunk of stone by the window He didn't even see Belle. She walked over to a white sheet that covered something almost exactly her size. Belle pulled off the sheet. A boy stood before her Not exactly a boy but something so very like a boy it was hard to believe he wasn't real.

  The boy had brown hair and bright blue eyes. His mouth was quite small, and his nose was thin and poky: an inquisitive nose. He was wearing a blue cape but, as far as Belle could see, the clothes under the cape were, as yet, unpainted. The shoes and pants were the color of light wood.

  "So," murmured Belle. "That's their game."

  Charlie and Billy got off the blue bus at the top of Filbert Street. Rembrandt had fallen asleep under Billy's sweater but he was obviously having bad dreams. He kept twitching and squeaking in his sleep. Billy reckoned that the rat had been badly freaked by Mr. Boldova's rejection.

  "You'll have to make up for it then," said Charlie. "You're his best friend now"

  Billy looked surprised and pleased. "1 suppose I am."

  "I'm afraid Mom doesn't know you're coming," Charlie warned him. "She's out all day on Saturday and she doesn't get home till after four."

  "I don't mind," said Billy happily

  She'll leave us plenty of food.'

  "Good. Can I give some to Rembrandt?"

  "Of course. Don't let my grandma see him. She can't abide animals. She'd probably kill him."

  "Oh," said Billy nervously

  About twenty paces from home Charlie became aware of a car parked in the road outside number nine. It's color might have been described as black. But then again, it wasn't quite black. It could have been midnight blue, but it was so streaked with mud and ash and — was it rust? Or had the vehicle been engulfed in flames? The bumper was bent and the windshield shattered.

  "That looks like a car from hell," said Billy

  "Or a car that's been through hell," said Charlie. "It belongs to my uncle Paton."

  The boys tore down Filbert Street. When they reached number nine, Charlie bounded up the steps and let himself in. Billy followed cautiously

  "There's no one here," Charlie shouted from the kitchen.

  Billy watched Charlie cross the hall and begin to mount the stairs.

  "Should I stay here?" he asked shyly

  "No. It's OK. Come on up." Charlie didn't want to go into his uncle's room alone. The DO NOT DISTURB sign lay on the floor, and the hook on the door was bent almost flat, as though someone had grasped it for support. The signs were so ominous that Charlie didn't know what to do. Should he knock or walk in unannounced?

  "I'd knock," Billy advised.


  Charlie knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

  No sound came from within the room.

  Charlie held his breath, opened the door, and walked in. Billy took just one step inside and then waited, his hand over the rat.

  The first thing Charlie saw was the wand, lying on his uncle's desk. The once slim white cane was almost unrecognizable, but Charlie knew it from its size and the dented silver tip. The rest was a charred and blackened stick.

  "What happened?" he murmured. Slowly he turned his gaze toward the bed, and there was his uncle, a figure all in black, lying stretched out on top of the covers, so tall that his feet in ash-covered shoes hung over the end.

  Paton's face beneath streaks of soot was deathly white. But worst of all, to Charlie, was his uncle's hair. Once a luxurious black, it had turned ash gray

  "Is he dead?" Billy whispered.

  "No," said Charlie fiercely but to tell the truth he wasn't sure. He touched his uncle's shoulder. There was no response. "Uncle Paton," he said softly and then more urgently "Please, Uncle Paton, wake up. If you can."

  CHAPTER 8

  A VISIT TO SKARPO

  Paton's eyes remained closed. His face looked like carved ice. Not a muscle twitched. Charlie put his ear to his uncle's chest and caught the faint sound of a heartbeat.

  "He's alive. But in a very deep sleep," said Charlie. "We'll just have to wait until he wakes up."

  It was no ordinary sleep, and yet it didn't seem like hypnotism. Paton must have been to Yewbeam Castle. But what terrible thing had happened to him there? Uncle Paton was the only person in the house who could stand up to Grandma Bone, and Charlie shuddered to think what life would be like if his uncle never woke up.

  "Let's get out of here," he said.

  Billy was standing very still beside the door and Charlie noticed that Rembrandt's head was poking out of the bottom of Billy's sweater The rat's nose was twitching violently. Suddenly he gave a loud squeak and leaped to the floor.

  "Get him!" Charlie cried.

  Billy ran out and Charlie followed, closing Paton's door behind him. He could see Rembrandt hurrying along, close to the wall. Billy had almost reached him when a door opened between him and the rat.

  Grandma Bone came out of her room and stood facing Billy "Oh?" She raised a long black eyebrow "Has Charlie brought home a little friend?"

  Billy blinked up at her.

  Charlie said, "It's Billy Raven, Grandma. He's staying the weekend."

  "I'm not blind. I can see it's Billy Raven," said his grandmother. "I'm glad you've come to your senses, Charlie. Billy's a nice boy A great improvement on that smelly Benjamin, not to mention fiddling Fidelio and that drip Gabriel."

  Charlie hated her talking about his friends like that, but he was too worried about the rat to argue. For some reason Rembrandt had stopped right behind his grandmother and was now sitting up and watching them.

  Billy didn't know what to do. He stared at Rembrandt with his mouth hanging open.

  "Why are you looking at my shoes, little boy?" said Grandma Bone. "Look me in the eye. I don't bite."

  Not yet, thought Charlie.

  As Billy tore his gaze away from the rat, Charlie was relieved to see it scamper downstairs.

  "Grandma . . . " Charlie began.

  "What was that?" Grandma Bone leaned over the banisters, but the rat had disappeared.

  "Well now, Billy" she said. "The person who usually does the cooking in the house has gone on vacation."

  "Hardly," said Charlie. "Grandma, do you . . .”

  "Be quiet," she snapped. “As I said, we haven't got a cook, but I'll do my best to find some nice tidbits for you. Charlie should be on bread and water, since he stole my goose liver pâté!"

  Charlie pointed to his uncle's door and shouted, “Grandma, do you realize Uncle Paton's lying in there half-dead?"

  "I'm perfectly well aware of my brother's state," she said coldly "He deserved everything he got. Meddling, that's what he was doing. Well, he bit off more than he could chew this time, didn't he? Met his match. Ha! Ha!" She gave a nasty snicker and swept downstairs. "I'm going to get some prunes," she called, and putting on her hat and coat, she left the house.

  "I don't like prunes," said Billy with a nervous frown.

  "You won't have to eat them," said Charlie. "Come on, let's find something better."

  Billy thought they should look for Rembrandt first, but although they searched every room on the ground floor, the black rat couldn't be found.

  "He's probably curled up asleep somewhere," said Charlie. "I'm going to put some potatoes in the oven."

  Before he could do this, his mother walked in with an armful of carrots. She showed no surprise on seeing a small white-haired boy sitting at the kitchen table. She was used to Benjamin's visits and was glad that Charlie would have a friend around over the weekend. She had guessed that Paton had come home because she'd heard strange noises very late the previous night, but she hadn't had time to pop in and see him before she left for work.

  "He's ill, Mom," said Charlie. "Really, really ill. His hair's turned gray and he can't speak."

  "Oh, dear, perhaps I'd better go and see." Mrs. Bone ran upstairs.

  A few minutes later she came down looking very-worried. "I'll call the doctor. Does your grandmother know about Paton?"

  "She said he deserved it for meddling," Charlie told her.

  Mrs. Bone shook her head. "That family" she muttered.

  While Charlie got the dinner ready Amy Bone called the doctor. She was on the phone for quite some time, trying to describe Paton's symptoms. It wasn't easy explaining that someone had turned gray overnight.

  "I don't think the doctor believed me," said Amy replacing the receiver. "But he's coming around in an hour, just to check."

  At that moment Grandma Bone came back with her prunes. As soon as she heard that a doctor had been called, she went to the phone and canceled his visit.

  "How could you do that?" said Amy "Paton needs a doctor."

  "No he doesn't," Grandma Bone retorted. "There's nothing a doctor can do. It's a waste of his precious time."

  "Honestly! Your own brother," cried Amy "Suppose . . . suppose he dies? How would you feel then?"

  "We all die — in time," said Grandma Bone, rinsing her prunes.

  Watching the arguments in wide-eyed silence, Billy decided that family life wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.

  Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Refusing ham and potatoes, Grandma Bone worked her way through a bowl of prunes, making a horrible sucking noise in the process.

  After dinner, while Mrs. Bone made up a bed for Billy the boys told her about Rembrandt.

  "Oh, Charlie, not another animal," sighed Mrs. Bone.

  "He's very clean," said Billy "and not a biter."

  "But a rat . . .”

  "Just look out for him, please, Mom?" begged Charlie. "We don't want Grandma to find him first."

  "I should think not," said his mother with a grin. "I'll do my best, but don't blame me if I scream when I see him." She left the bedroom saying, "Rats. Whatever's next?"

  Billy wanted to continue the search for Rembrandt, but Charlie was afraid Grandma Bone would become suspicious. Besides, Uncle Paton, who could always be relied on in a crisis, was now lying in some terrible stupor, unable to tell anyone what had happened to him. Perhaps he would never be quite himself again.

  "Your uncle breaks lightbulbs, doesn't he?" said Billy.

  "He's a power-booster," said Charlie. "Something happens when he looks at a light; it just kind of explodes. That's why he doesn't go out until after midnight. Someone might see one of his 'accidents.'"

  "There was a light on in his room," said Billy

  "What?" Charlie hadn't noticed. He had to find out if it was true.

  When he looked into his uncle's room, there it was — a bright light hanging from the ceiling, right above his uncle's desk.

  "It's gone, Charlie," came a faint voice from the bed.


  Paton's dark eyes were now open. He was gazing at the light with an expression of horror.

  "Uncle, you're awake!" cried Charlie.

  "If you can call it that," croaked Paton. "Charlie, I'm cleaned out, whipped. He's stronger than anyone could imagine."

  "Who?" said Charlie.

  Paton closed his eyes again. "Your grandmother put the light on to test me. She wanted to make sure I'd lost the power. Well — I have."

  "But who did this to you?" Charlie asked.

  Paton's gray head tossed from side to side. "I thought he was dead — gone. But he never will be."

  "Who?" begged Charlie.

  "I can't say his name. Perhaps, tomorrow . . . " Paton turned his face to the wall.

  Charlie realized that he couldn't press his uncle any further. He was about to leave the room when the wand caught his eye, and the beginning of an idea crept into his mind. He picked up the ruined wand and slipped back to his room.

  Billy was sitting on Charlie's bed, looking very despondent.

  "Don't worry about Rembrandt," said Charlie. "He's a clever rat, and you're his friend. He'll turn up soon, I bet." He saw that Billy wasn't really listening to him; he was gazing at Charlie's hands with an expression of awe.

  When Charlie looked down he saw that the burned wand was changing. He could feel it moving gently under his fingers, as slippery as silk and warm as sunlight. The silver tip began to sparkle and the blackened wood gradually faded until it was a pure white.

  "How did that happen?" breathed Billy.

  Charlie shook his head. "Don't know" He sat beside Billy and ran his fingers over the smooth white wood.

  "It's a wand, isn't it?" said Billy. "It was all black and broken and now it's like brand-new Is it your uncle's?"

  "No," said Charlie slowly. "I borrowed it from a person who had stolen it from someone else."

  "Looks like it really wanted to be with you," observed Billy "Like it belonged to you."

  "It can't," said Charlie. "It's impossible. I'm not a wizard or a sorcerer."

  "But you're endowed, like me."

  "Not in that way" Charlie muttered. He decided to tell Billy the truth about the wand.

  Reaching under the bed, Charlie pulled out a small painting. It showed a man in a long black robe with silver black hair and a beard the same color. He was standing in a room lit by candles in a tall iron stand. With a piece of chalk he was drawing a star on a stone wall already covered in strange symbols.